You've Got Me Tied Up In Knots
by J-J-Sawyer-Phillips
Summary: Set after "Princess Training," Killian steps up their little games. Then so does Emma. Rated M for bondage. Disclaimer: Adam and Eddy are my kings, but not yet my employers.


Killian tilts his head to the side, both examining and admiring his handiwork. Emma's breathing hitches under his intense scrutiny, even more flustered, aroused, and slightly embarrassed than the moment he issued his first command on her arrival at his new home…

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_Earlier that day…_

Although the Jolly Roger has been his home for centuries, he started looking for a place in Storybrooke to call his own almost immediately. He's no fool and knows that it will take time for stories of his deeds in Neverland to filter down to all of the townsfolk; hell, he may never be able to prove himself to any of these people. But their approval or hatred means nothing to him because this is where Emma lives… And after their first night together, he cannot fathom living out his days anywhere but where she is. Because he knows that just a taste isn't going to be enough to satisfy either of them. So, he suffers the stony glares in silence as he goes about his business in the town. Thankfully, the few merchants whose shops he enters are obliging as opposed to rude (his gold spending just as easily as the paper bills or plastic chips that everyone else uses), or downright chatty and helpful in the case of Esmeralda.

He still hasn't had a chance to learn how to operate a car, much less acquire one, so he walks back to his cabin with his purchases. The place is rustic, but still superior to many accommodations found back in the Enchanted Forest; he definitely plans to make changes and improvements, but for now, he simply enjoys the feeling of having a place of his own. Granted, he had to deal with the Crocodile in order to find and rent the house, but compared to the bliss of setting up a place that is all for him and Emma, a space where there are no memories except for the ones he will be creating with her… Striking a bargain with Rumplestiltskin was an easy choice when it came right down to it.

He carefully lays out his purchases on the table in the kitchen, sorting them methodically and running through his plans for the evening one more time…

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Right before Emma and David could finish up their last reports before lunch, Moe French's spindly-thin assistant staggers into the station carrying a ridiculously elaborate arrangement of flowers. Both father and daughter stare at each other for a few seconds before shooting up off their feet to "help" the florist. Thankfully, David doesn't spot the card first, so she snatches it out of the little plastic holder. Only then does she actually help by clearing several stacks of files and papers off of her desk and laying them haphazardly on David's. To call this a bouquet would do it an injustice. First, she can't even see the vase that the flowers are in, but it's got to be more than just your standard cylinder or inverse pyramid. The Calla Lily flowers are massive and most prominent, their delicate white curves gently spilling out their soft fragrance; then, there are several sprays of pink and purple freesia, as well as pink apple blossoms; though it's not nighttime, a few jasmines are scattered in there as well, a scent Emma can fairly easily identify; but the last ones she spots are the most curious: three bright yellow tulips that stand out because of their color, but also somehow pull everything together harmoniously. A lot of thought and effort went into this particular choice and arrangement of the flowers.

She thanks and tips an exhausted looking Mr. Lightman before turning the card over in her hand. She recognizes the cursive instantly—a fluttering sensation starts in her chest while warmth begins to flare in a much more southerly location. He's gone through a lot of public trouble and effort for her in sending these flowers; they haven't talked about keeping their relationship a secret, nor have they been trying to hide exactly. They've simply been enjoying the quiet specialness of being the only people in the world who know about their connection. The display is clearly his less than subtle way of showing her how he wants things to be; sending them to the sheriff's station means that he wants her father in particular to know how he feels and his intentions. Again, Emma expects the familiar panic, the urge to run away from Killian and everything he wants, to spring up and grip her by the throat. It would be truly unnatural if she _didn't_ have any doubts or fears about making things work with him or about changing the way others see him. But if, even for one moment, she ever doubted _him_, his actions in Neverland and beyond have proved to her that he is a good man.

_My dearest Emma, did you know that every single flower and plant has a very specific meaning attached? It seems to me that for all the knowledge your world has accumulated, there is much that has been lost or forgotten with time. Suffice to say, I mean every word, every thought, every emotion. You needn't share our secret with your family if you aren't ready, love, but I hope that soon you will be. Meet me tonight at the address below; I believe the phrase is that I have a date planned for us. _

_Your servant always,_

_Killian Jones_

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"What do you mean, you have a date with him?" Snow leans against the door frame, watching her daughter get dressed for the evening. Because her mother won't leave until she gets an answer, Emma reluctantly takes a breath to explain.

"You've been on one before, you know? With a certain mad scientist? And with Dad; which, if you haven't yet since the curse was broken, you should really try sometime. With all of us living in this loft, you guys could use some alone…"

"We were cursed!"

"Mom! I'm not judging or anything. I'm just saying that I am going out on a date. With Killian Jones. What is so complicated about that?"

"Well… It's just that… As much as I've been expecting this, I suppose the fact that it's actually happening comes as a bit of a shock to me. You're trusting someone and letting them in. And really, I hope you don't get me wrong because that's fantastic. I just never imagined that my daughter would end up with someone who wasn't a noble or a royal of some kind. I mean, I know that we aren't in the Enchanted Forest and that the United States doesn't have any monarchies, not that they'd recognize us as such. But I also never imagined that Captain Hook would end up as my son-in-law either, so I suppose anything is possible."

"Mary Margaret! First, it's a date, not a wedding. Second, take a deep breath. Third, you really need to stop calling him Hook; that's not his name. And fourth, I know that you missed out on the whole parenting thing with me, but I'm a big girl now. I have a kid of my own; who I spend time with is really not your decision. Besides all this, I've never felt like a princess before—I was never adored and loved and treated as anything special. I'm not saying any of this to hurt you, Mom. What I'm trying to say is that the way Killian looks at me, the way he makes me feel—well, that's the closest I've ever come to any of that. He treats me like a woman deserves to be treated, makes me feel like a woman while giving me the respect of an equal. I don't know where things are headed with him, but I know that with him, I'll be a partner and not a pawn or an amusement. So, while I appreciate that this might be difficult for you, can you please trust _me_ to know what I'm doing?"

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As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew that they were true. Snow had started tearing up and rushed over to hug her, but Emma had felt completely blindsided. She's pretty certain she's never used the words "feel" or "feeling" quite so many times in her entire life, but there's no denying the effect that Killian Jones has on her—he makes her _feel_. And not just in the physical, mind-blowingly, amazing sex way; somewhere between here and Neverland and the Enchanted Forest, cracks in her walls started forming for the dashing yet damaged man. He's gotten so far past her defenses that he even has her thinking is clichés now!

But if she's being honest with herself—and really, since that night at the Rabbit Hole, letting Killian take control and dominate her, she's dropped a lot of her own lies and pretences—she knows that the deep emotional currents, the feelings and attachments are hardly one-sided. He's clearly desired her from the moment they met, but the connectedness, the yearning to be understood and accepted by her has been evident since that confession in Rumplestiltskin's jail cell. He _wouldn't_ have left her behind; he would have helped her steal the wardrobe ashes and escape to Storybrooke. It was _her_ fear and abandonment issues that kept them apart for far too long. The question remains: will she let her pride and fears continue to stand in the way?

She hasn't even fully had time to answer her own question when she's walking around the edge of a pond to a familiar looking cabin in the woods. Not too long ago, before the curse broke, she followed Gold here and arrested him for assaulting Belle's father. Only this time, she knows that Killian is waiting for her inside and that something entirely different will happen. Light spills out of the windows, reflecting in the lightly rippling surface of the water, but it's much warmer, more alive than anything electricity can provide. She stands there for several minutes, just staring, until she sorts through and recognizes the emotions coursing through her—anticipation, of both the nervous and excited variety. It's been so long since she's been on a real date, one that wasn't part of her job or involved skipping out on the check; plus, she has no idea what Killian's expectations are for all of this or how he even knew what a date was. But in the end, her desire to see him, to be near him wins out over any anxieties that linger in her mind.

She makes her way toward the house, stepping carefully up onto the front porch and looking in at the window. Clearly, Killian has managed a few changes already or has no real concept of rooms and interior decorating. She has no idea how he managed to move his bed here from the ship, but the familiar pillows and bedding glow prominently in the pool of candlelight. The fireplace has a cheerful blaze going, adding to the warm lighting in the room, and Emma can even feel the heat through the pane of glass. Not entirely certain whether or not there's another entrance, she knocks on the door and waits. "I was worried there for a moment, lass. You looked ready to bolt; afraid I might've had to give chase. Would you have let me catch you, princess?"

Emma gasps, startled again by his ability to remain absolutely silent and still. It had been an unnerving skill to see in action in the jungles of Neverland; however, an erotic thrill slides through her body, knowing that he could have done any number of things to her before she would have had time to react. The possibilities are… endlessly enthralling to contemplate. A blush heats her cheekbones as one such scenario flits through her mind, the prospect far from frightening. She looks down demurely, but stalks toward him with an exaggerated sway to her hips. "If I really wanted to escape, I don't think my shoes are at all right for getting me away fast enough, not to mention needing to go through the woods. And when you finally caught me, who knows what sort of damage might have been done to my dress? You see, I'm supposed to meet this pirate for a date he asked me out on, and I bought a new outfit and everything. Do you know where I can find him?"

Killian doesn't move from his place in the shadows as she slips her hand onto his chest and molds her curves along the length of his body. From this angle, he can see the exposed tops of her breasts and a hint of delicate light blue lace under the black of her long coat. As she walked up to the cabin, he'd gotten more than an eye-full of her long, bare legs; he's never seen them exposed outside of his bedroom (and the deck of the Jolly Roger, but that doesn't really count), and he feels an unexpected wrench of jealousy in his gut and chest. The mere thought of another man seeing what belongs to him fires a primal need to mark and claim Emma—a far from gentlemanly urge and a side of him that only his Swan has ever managed to tap into. She challenges him in so many ways, the least of which is in maintaining his finely-honed, hard-won control. Hence the trappings of power-plays and games, the elaborate courting gestures, and the carefully planned scene; even his choice of clothing was deliberately selected to remind him that his darkest side needs to remain locked away, for now. She deserves far more than he believes he can ever give her—it is her desires, her needs that must be met first.

"There might be one lurking about somewhere. Surely his loss is my gain. He's a fool to ever let such a beautiful woman out of his sight, and his bed." Killian never breaks eye contact as he kisses her wrist and then the faint scar that's still visible on the palm of her hand. "Thank you for coming, sweet Emma."

"Were you afraid that I wouldn't?"

"Terrified, love. I fear very few things anymore, having seen more than my share of the horrific; but I am petrified every moment that I'm not with you. I spent many nights dreaming of you, lass… I'm never quite sure if you're real or still a part of my fantasies." He pulls her hand up to his cheek and holds it there, skimming his nose along the sensitive skin of her wrist again. Because his eyes are closed, he doesn't see the moment of heartbreak, the sympathy that brims in her eyes at his words. He's not hiding behind them this time, but he still has a way with them that she will never be able to match; and it saddens her to no end, not just that he seems to believe it, but that she despairs of ever finding the right phrases, the perfect words she longs to say.

"When I first got here, and I didn't believe that I was the savior, I told Henry that I wasn't a character in some book—that I was a real person. Now, show me your new place, and then I'll prove to you just how real I am."

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The conversation on the porch was nearly two hours, a nice meal, and all of her clothes ago. Now, the only things she's wearing are the cerulean silk ropes Killian used to tie her wrists and elbows together and bound around her breasts and torso. She's on her knees on his bed, back bowed so that her hips and breasts are thrust out and upwards; her hair cascades down her arms, not quite concealing the bright blue bindings. Her head is tilted slightly to the right, lips parted just so; her eyes are half-closed, so she can watch him as his hand flies across the parchment. His gaze burns over every inch of her, never wavering, never leaving her exposed skin. She can almost feel it, brushing along her entire body. Her thigh muscles and back are feeling the strain, but she keeps still as she's been told to. Instead of embarrassed or ashamed, the only thing Emma feels is his worship, his devoted adoration of every curve and line of her body and every recess of her soul. Seemingly tied up and helpless, she has never felt more empowered and feminine than she does right now.

But the strain must be showing a little bit because he puts his pencil and the portfolio down on a side table and walks over to her. He wraps his left arm around her back and pulls her straight into his chest. The midnight blue silk brushes against her tightly bound breasts so sensuously that her nipples immediately harden at the whispered touch. She moans as his right hand cups the back of her head and then trails down her neck and shoulders, kneading away the spots of tension hidden there. "Thank you, Emma. You've done very well so far. I know that exhibitionism isn't your style, so it means all the more to mean that you consented to pose. However, there is still the little matter of your disobedience on my ship; so, as a reward for your good behavior now, you get to choose what I'll use after your spanking. You can sit a little more comfortably and stretch your legs."

He places a soft kiss on her lips and then again on the tip of her nose before walking over to a cabinet set in the wall. "The cane is light and flexible. It won't break the skin, but it should raise some bright red lines. The flogger has several strips of leather. We'll take it easy, but you might get a few welts. The crop might bring out a bruise or two, but nothing out of the ordinary. Or, there's a paddle or my hand."

They all have possibilities, but she already knows which one she wants him to try first. "The crop, please. Captain." She pauses only slightly and with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. She's seeking his limits again, wanting to see how far into the pain he can take her. It's the true test of a Dom, to know precisely how much their Sub can really take without willfully hurting themselves or going too far in an effort to please. Emma, on the other hand, is genuinely curious; no one had ever dared to question her dominance, her iron will, and self-control. She'd never met anyone for whom she wanted to bend, wanted to be supple and pliant for, until Killian. Much of the pain in her life has been dark and emotional; now, she wants to learn how it can dance on the knife's edge with pleasure.

"Very well. For your spanking, I'll have you over my knee. I do believe twenty was the number agreed upon, yes?"

"Yes, Captain." As they discussed the other day—in the midst and the aftermath of a night and a day worth of taunting, teasing, love making, and fucking—he issues a command and expects that it will be followed immediately. Walking toward where he's seated, she's entirely aware of her body and the power that it has over him. With her hands bound behind her back like this, she needs and accepts his help getting into the proper position. Her face is turned to the left, looking at him, cheek resting on his leather-clad thigh. His left arm is stretched across her bound wrists, and she is able to hold on to his hook. Her feet are planted on the ground, legs slightly apart. The second she's in position, his hand descends hard on her ass, forcing a gasp from her. "One."

He changes everything with each spank—placement, time between slaps, force—but after each one he runs his hand soothingly along her reddening skin. It's the contrast, the anticipation that have her panting and gasping in pleasure rather than discomfort. By seven, Emma can already feel her own moist heat begin trailing down her upper thighs. At the twentieth, her body is ready to topple over the edge into bliss, and she all but collapses on Killian. He can see hazy green through slitted eyelids as she leans in to rub her face along his stomach and waistband. He chuckles at her display of eagerness and affection. "Insatiable minx."

"Only for you, Captain. Only with you." His heart clenches because there's something about the way she says it that makes it sound like she's saying so much more.

"Back up on the bed, princess. Just as you were before." He helps her up and steadies her on her feet before rising and walking over to the cabinet to retrieve the crop. He flexes it a bit, then swings it to get the measure of the instrument. "Now, this will make a sound somewhere between a thud and a crack, depending on where it strikes you. We aren't going to go with a set number, so be very vocal. I want to know exactly where you are at every step of the way. Ocean still puts everything to a stop, so, what tells me that you are uncomfortable?"

"Sky."

He smiles at her smug grin, but then fists her hair in his hand. The glassy haze of pleasure reasserts itself in her eyes at his show of power. Gods! But she's so responsive for him! He kisses her bruisingly, matching the duel of tongues to the controlled violence of their desire for each other. Killian pulls away quickly, just as eager to play her as she is willing to be played. He starts with a swift, yet gentle strike to each of her breasts. Emma hisses, then moans. "It stings at first, but then I can feel heat come up to the surface of my skin."

He stalks back and forth, peppering her skin with cracks of the crop. Each strike of the leather against her flesh bring more whimpers, more moans, but never a hint of anything but pleasure. Rosy blushes stain her porcelain skin, all along her thighs and stomach like white and red petals. His lashes are precise in their pressure, not once causing a welt or bruise to blossom. "Are you wet for me already, Emma?" He trails the crop down between her breasts, across her stomach, and slips it between her spread thighs. She starts panting as he touches the leather to her folds and clit.

"Yes, Killian! Since you started my spanking. I almost came when you finished punishing me." Another moan breaks past her lips as he continues taunting her. He takes the crop away, examining it with a seemingly jaded eye; her juices cover a significant portion of the leather, revealing just how thoroughly, wantonly turned-on Emma is.

"But you didn't?" She shakes her head, pouting adorably. "Good. Then come for me now."

He carefully, delicately lashes her folds and clit. Like a sculptor using just the right amount of pressure to chisel away the last imperfection, Killian increases the swiftness of his gentle strikes until she's screaming his name and collapsing onto her side on the bed. He tosses the crop carelessly on the comforter, making quick work of the knots binding her. She is absolutely boneless as he frees her, gathers her in his arms, and places her gently under the covers. He strips quickly and joins her, his only intent to hold her as the power of her orgasm rides her. But he underestimates his Emma.

Far sooner than he imagined possible—in fact, no sooner than he had gotten her head settled on his chest—she straddles his waist. "Get back here, lass. What do you think you're-"

She places a finger on his lips, then leans in to kiss him. Compared with what just passed between them, it's a slow, languorously innocent meeting of lips and tongues; but there's something wildly unknown about it that sets him on edge. Emma pulls back, eyes glowing green, a wickedly sensual smile on her face. "Let me thank you properly, Killian love."

She gently guides his cock inside her, slowly inching her way down in a way that drives him frantic with need. When he's fully home, she grinds her hips against his. And then she's riding him with her body and with magic. He feels an answering spark of pleasure in his body wherever he touches her. He arcs his hips up to meet her every downward stroke. Their mating dance takes on a frantic pace, a desperate and needy race to neither knows just what. Emma looks like a goddess come to earth, green-fired eyes and golden hair rippling around her body in a magical wind. She's so beautiful she makes his heart ache, and all he ever wants to do is worship her.

He wraps his arms around her, rolling them over without ever skipping a beat. Her legs entwine with his before wrapping around his waist. He kisses her throat, her breasts, her lips while whispering prayers and odes and praise. She reaches for the hand that's buried in her hair and laces their fingers together. She contracts and flutters around him, clearly so close to orgasm again in the white-hot connection between them. His only thought in the instant before she pulls him under with her is that he is somehow home with this divine princess, with this woman-goddess the rest of the world knows as Emma Swan. And then bright blinding light followed by darkness followed by a warm golden glow descends.

Killian vaguely remembers rolling to the side and settling Emma next to him. They both simply bask in the sound of the other breathing, of the feel of cooling skin against skin for several long minutes. He notices all of a sudden that she's smiling up at him, the most dazzling and happiest glow on her face. "Gods, love! I swear to myself that you could never be more beautiful than in that moment, and then you prove me wrong!"

She snuggles her face into his chest, blush flaming down her face and neck. When he lifts her chin back up, she actually giggles. But then a seriousness slightly dims the joy shining out of her. "I told my parents about our date. And of course my Mom wanted to have "a talk" with me about it. Not my point. Anyway, I realized something, and you know I'm horrible with words. Actions are much more my thing…"

She looks embarrassed and trips over some of what she says, especially when confusion and uncertainty crosses his features. But then she pointedly looks at the hand that's cupping her cheek and playing with her tumbled locks. The left hand that hasn't stopped touching her from the moment her magic fully healed him. Killian stares first at it, then at her in speechless awe. "You make me feel like I belong; I was a part of something before, but I always felt like I stood on the outside. You make me feel adored and special and whole, Killian."

Emma hides her face against his chest again because the wonder and happiness and joy and love radiating off of him is just too much. But he's having none of that. He flips her off, eliciting a startled squeal from his earthy goddess. And then his body pins hers to the mattress, and he threads their fingers together for the first time. When she finally opens her eyes, she gasps because Killian's are now an electric silver-blue. Almost as if… He chuckles before placing gentle kisses along her neck and collarbone, punctuating each with a whispered "thank you."


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